


I Love You and Other Random Facts

by saoirse9



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death Fix, Fix-It, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Sam Winchester, Killer Pineapples, Light Angst, M/M, Pineapples, Protective Gabriel, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Useless Trivia, mainly sabriel, mentions of Destiel, no really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-04-30 02:10:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 19,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14486523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saoirse9/pseuds/saoirse9
Summary: “Hey, Samshine, wanna know something about pineapple?”Sam blinked, train of thought completely derailed by the non sequitur. “Uh, sure?”Gabriel had made his way over to the table again and he leaned backwards onto his hands, bouncing a little. “When you eat pineapple, it’s eating you back!”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a couple of notes before we get started.  
> First, I came to the Supernatural fandom late - I've been catching up for the past year. So this story has its origins when I was binge-watching. There is a brief, beautiful moment mid-season 8 when Sam and Dean aren't mad at each other, they've just gotten a new home, and nothing is trying to kill them or destroy the world; out of this moment was this fic born. (Also, yes, I am caught up on s13 and yes, I know what's going on there. But this story's been in the works for a while, so...)  
> Second, I would like to thank the three people who contributed most to my writing of this. E, thank you for the initial inspiration - this story wouldn't exist without your crazy pineapple fact! - and for reading this even though you don't watch the show. K, thank you for always supporting me and my crazy ideas and keeping my writer spirit up. A, thank you for lighting a fire under my ass to get this finished and being my beta-reader and telling me my writing is good even when I can't see it. I love all three of you!  
> Now, on with the story!

Sam awoke with a small start that years of training quickly stilled, gun already in his hand but unsure what had pulled him from sleep. He breathed in and out slowly, quietly, listening for any sound. It could feasibly be Dean stumbling back from the bar, but his last text had indicated the elder Winchester had found some entertainment to keep him busy until morning.

A soft tha-thump came from the direction of the motel room table, followed by a short pause before repeating. Sam took a moment to prepare himself, muscles tensing imperceptibly, before sitting up, flicking on the lamp, and aiming in the direction of the noise, all in one fluid movement. The sight that met his eyes pulled him up short, jaw dropping and eyes widening in shocked amazement. Gabriel, the supposedly-dead-but-very-clearly-not-dead archangel/trickster/pagan god, was perched on the table, smiling smugly and leaning back on his hands while his feet drummed on the table leg. That was the source of the tha-thump and most likely what had woken Sam. Amused golden eyes locked onto stunned hazel and Gabriel’s smirk widened. “Heya, Sammy,” he greeted the hunter.

Sam’s mind took another moment or two to get back online and then he spluttered, “Ga-Gabriel? What are you— ? But why— ? How— ? Aren’t you supposed to be— ?” He trailed off, utterly baffled.

Laughter sparkled in Gabriel’s voice as he answered Sam’s rambling. “Aren’t I supposed to be... Dead? What, aren’t you happy to see me, Samsquatch? I’m hurt, truly.” The archangel placed a hand over his heart in mock affront.

Sam looked down, letting his hair hang over his eyes as he took two slow, deep breaths to calm his adrenaline-fueled body. When he decided he could speak without sounding like an imbecile, the hunter glanced up at Gabriel and quietly but firmly asked, “Is it really you? Are you— you’re alive?”

Gabriel smirked. “You bet your shiny leather boots, Gigantor. Or, well, dusty, hunting-stained boots, at least. It’s really me and I’m really back. Been enjoying the pleasures of Earth for all of, oh, 24 hours and...” he checked an imaginary watch, “five minutes.”

Slowly, Sam began to ho— entertain the notion that this might actually be real. Because if it looked like an archangel and sounded like an archangel, chances are it was, indeed, an archangel. And yet... he had to be sure.

“Tell me something, something only you and I would know,” Sam commanded.

Amber eyes rolled in annoyance, but Gabriel huffed out a sigh and complied. “Mystery Spot. The tacos. Dean shouldn’t have picked the chicken fried steak. I mean, c’mon, who puts that in a taco? He was just asking for food poisoning.”

Sam might have flinched at the mention of his own personal Groundhog Day except he was too busy being shocked. Plus, in light of what the hunter had become in Dean’s absence and under Ruby’s influence, he had forgiven the trickster for his poorly thought out lesson even before Gabriel had died. So, instead, Sam breathed in, his eyes widening, and laid his gun on the bedside table. “It is you. You’re alive.”

Without warning, the hunter felt a tear trickle down his cheek and quickly lowered his head. He glanced up at Gabriel through his hair, hoping the archangel hadn’t seen. No such luck. Gabriel’s head was tilted in that gesture all angels seemed to instinctively use and his mouth quirked up at the corners. “Why, Sammy, are those for me?”

Caught out, Sam fiercely wiped at his eyes, dashing away a few more wayward tears that had fallen. “Shut up,” he hissed, “I’m in shock, okay?” He turned his head away, trying to gain control of himself. If Dean were here, he’d be calling him a girl, the jerk. Sam expected to hear something similar from Gabriel, a mocking comment or, at the very least, laughter. What he got instead surprised him: the soft slither of a body sliding off a table and the quiet pad of feet across the dingy motel room carpet. The hunter could feel the presence of the archangel next to him but refused to even glance and see what exactly Gabriel was doing. So he was startled when soft fingers touched his jaw and gently but irresistibly tilted his face until he was looking at the archangel. Hazel locked with amber. Gabriel studied Sam’s face for a moment, then caught a stray tear on the tip of his finger and studied that, too, with something very near awe shining in his eyes. It was the quietest Sam had ever known him to be. He returned his gaze to Sam’s eyes and spoke softly, “You mourned me.” It wasn’t a question.

Sam nodded anyway. “Yeah. I— we did,” he confirmed. He was sure Gabriel hadn’t missed his little slip of the tongue, but couldn’t quite find it in himself to care.

The archangel’s expressive eyebrows drew down in seeming confusion. “Why?” he asked. But before Sam could answer, Gabriel’s default setting of sarcasm reasserted itself. “Let me guess, was it because you wouldn’t have my help anymore? Well, seems you did just fine without me.”

Before he could stop himself, Sam blurted out, “No, that’s not it at all! It’s...” he trailed off, unsure if he really wanted to be that honest with the former trickster.

Gabriel smoothly raised one eyebrow and cocked his head to the side. “Well, Winchester? I’m waiting.”

The hunter debated for a moment. On the one hand, anything he told the archangel could potentially come back to bite him in the ass. On the other, he’d already said more than he had ever intended to tell anyone, even Dean. So he took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “I mean, that’s part of it. I won’t deny you would have been a lot of help - maybe I wouldn’t have needed to say ‘yes’ to Lucifer if you’d still been around.” Gabriel opened his mouth, no doubt ready to spout some form of “I told you so,” but Sam quickly continued. “However, that’s just what I told Dean and Cas. Really, though, what you did for us, for me - when I think about that... despite everything you did to us, of course I mourned you. You died because of us. And, well, I...” he stopped once more, again unsure how honest he should be.

But Gabriel made that decision for him. “Oh, no, Winchester, you do not get to leave me hanging. You finish that thought or I’m telling Dean that you cried over me AND letting him draw his own conclusions from that.”

Sam huffed out an annoyed breath and ran his hands over his hair. “Fine,” he yielded. “I missed you. Alright? I missed — well, really, I missed the thought of you, I guess. I mean, you agreed to help us and I couldn’t keep from thinking what it would be like to have you around and, well, the thought wasn’t half bad. So, yeah, I — I was mourning what could have been.” Sam chanced a glance at the archangel, trying to gauge his reaction.

Gabriel blinked once, twice, and that in itself was strange as angels, especially of the archangel variety, really had no need to blink. He opened his mouth and raised his forefinger, like he was about to say something, but nothing came out. So he lowered his hand, closed his mouth, and just stared at Sam with a look the hunter couldn’t quite decipher.

After a long moment, Sam began fidgeting, uncomfortable with a silence that was quickly hitting awkward territory. When the archangel continued to do nothing but stare, Sam cleared his throat and said, “Um, Gabriel? You, uh, okay?”

That shook Gabriel out of his contemplation of Sam’s features and his signature smirk reappeared. “Just peachy, Sammy,” he replied brightly. Then the smirk stretched into a lascivious grin and he cast the hunter a sidelong glance. “So, tell me, Sam-a-lam, what sorts of things were you imagining that had you missing me so much?”

Sam couldn’t help it; Gabriel’s tone was so suggestive that his mind immediately jumped to something he’d sworn to forget (albeit with limited success). For the first few months after the angel’s death, the hunter often found himself daydreaming in the middle of research about how Gabriel might react to their current predicament or case. Consciously, of course, he had only ever imagined what it would be like to have Gabriel as part of their little team: playing pranks on Dean, mercilessly teasing Castiel, leaving candy wrappers everywhere, and being generally exasperating in the best kind of way. And Sam was honest enough to admit that there had always been some sort of unacknowledged attraction between himself and the archangel, so the Gabriel he pictured was also a constant flirt.

But one night, all the imagining, and attraction, and regret, and every other emotion he’d attached to Gabriel’s death but couldn’t put a name to, all rolled up into one tangled, glorious mess of a dream that only ended when Sam woke with the angel’s name on his lips, a wet spot on his sheets, and an unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach. The agitation did not stem from the fact that he had dreamt of another male (or, really, male-shaped being); Sam had known for a long time that his more intimate interests weren’t limited to the female form. Nor did it originate in the thought that it was the former trickster starring in his dream. Despite the many and varied ways Gabriel had screwed with them, Sam could not bring himself to condemn the angel’s actions, not when he considered Gabriel’s sacrifice or the terrible things he himself had done that had led to the archangel stepping in. Especially that last part. And therein lay the source of Sam’s discontent — who was he to even unconsciously contemplate being the object of Gabriel’s attention or affection. He was nothing. He was an abomination. So he had carefully folded the dream away into one of the darker corners of his mind and done his best to forget its existence. Which, admittedly, he hadn’t done very well to begin with. But time had a way of blurring even the most vivid things and the dream had sat forgotten for longer and longer. Only now...

As sharp, clear flashes of what could only be termed his improbable (and highly inappropriate) fantasy raced across his mind, Sam blushed a deep red, from the roots of his hair all the way down his neck and under the collar of his shirt.

Gabriel whistled and eyed Sam up and down. “That good, huh? I guarantee you, Sambo, the real thing is better.”

If it was possible, Sam blushed even harder. “Shut up, Gabriel,” he ground out, breathing deeply to try and regain control over his body’s response system.

The archangel just laughed, full and long. Even in his extreme state of embarrassment, Sam realized just how much he’d missed that laugh; he thought he’d never hear it again and yet it, like Gabriel, was back in his life. He didn’t deserve it. The hunter rubbed the back of his neck and glanced at the laughing angel out of the corner of his eye. Gabriel was still chuckling a little, golden eyes gleaming with mirth and mouth turned up at the corners. One lock of dark blond hair hung down over his eyes and Sam thought he looked nothing short of divine. Not that he’d ever tell the archangel that; there was no telling what could be done with that kind of information, never mind that Gabriel already had too much ammunition the way it was.

The angel quieted and just sat looking at Sam, almost expectantly. But the hunter didn’t know what to say and the silence again began to stretch. Scrambling for something, anything, Sam’s mind grasped at one of the more confusing points of the whole situation. “So how...” he began to blurt out, but Gabriel anticipated him and smoothly cut in.

“Hey, Samshine, wanna know something about pineapple?”

Sam blinked, train of thought completely derailed by the non sequitur. “Uh, sure?”

Gabriel had made his way over to the table again and he leaned backwards onto his hands, bouncing a little. “When you eat pineapple, it’s eating you back!”

Crickets.

“...what?”

“Yeah!” Gabriel jabbered. “It has this enzyme in it that’s the same as the one your mouth releases to begin breaking down food. That’s why it makes your mouth feel all tingly!” The archangel grinned, clearly pleased with his grasp of random and useless trivia.

Sam rolled his eyes and shook his head, but couldn’t stop the smile that started to stretch the corners of his mouth. He breathed in slowly, chewing at his bottom lip. It was clear Gabriel didn’t want to talk about the “hows” of his return, so the hunter again found himself at a loss. He glanced at the clock - 6:03. Earlier than Sam really wanted to be up, but, honestly, he probably wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep after all the excitement. So he pushed down the covers and swung his feet over the edge of the bed. Standing up, pretending to study the pattern of the ugly-ass wallpaper on the wall across from him, he said, “Well, I might as well be awake. I guess I can get some research in before Dean comes back.” Then he glanced sidelong at Gabriel. “You can stay or... whatever, if you want. But I have to use the bathroom so, yeah.” And he began to shuffle toward the motel’s barely functioning amenities.

Before moving too far, however, Sam froze in his tracks as he felt arms encircle his waist and a warm body press up against his back. Gabriel leaned his forehead into the hunter’s spine and whispered so quietly that Sam almost wasn’t sure he’d heard anything at all except for the way his heart was beating a little faster. “I missed you, too, kiddo.” Then the archangel withdrew his arms, snapped, and Sam could tell without even turning around that the room was empty.


	2. Chapter 2

If not for the fact that he stayed awake from the time Gabriel snapped himself away until Dean arrived hours later, Sam would have thought the entire encounter was a dream. And, as the days stretched into weeks without even a flicker of the archangel, Sam started to believe maybe he’d hallucinated the entire thing; he had been a little short on sleep at the time. Dean certainly didn’t believe him. “Dude,” he said when Sam first told him, “you gotta stop eating salads before bed – they give you strange dreams.”

And yet… Sam couldn’t forget the warm press of Gabriel against his back – it had _felt_ real. So the days went on and the hunter kept up the tiniest flicker of hope. He even tentatively began to pray to the archangel, anything from a simple hello to recounting their latest hunt. One night, all he could manage was, “Please, Gabriel, tell me I’m not crazy…”

But there was nothing in return. Nothing, that is, until the Pineapple Incident. Sam was sitting at the long table in the bunker’s war room, taking notes on a rash of strange deaths in Ohio that had popped as a possible case. Dean was in the kitchen, cooking lunch. The younger Winchester wasn’t sure what exactly was on the menu, just that his brother had walked in that morning with several grocery bags, one of which had the distinctive tops of pineapples poking out, and a very self-satisfied smirk. Sam left him to it with a fond eye roll. Honestly, he could do with the peace and quiet for a change.

But, suddenly, the peaceful quiet wasn’t so peaceful or quiet anymore. A series of crashes reverberated from the kitchen, followed by a loud _thunk_ , and then the sound of many tiny voices chanting something Sam couldn’t quite make out. He was immediately up out of his chair, gun in hand, racing towards the kitchen. But when he reached the door, he froze in shock, mouth dropping open at the impossible sight. Pots and pans lay scattered all over the floor. A butcher knife was embedded in the counter. And Dean was standing on the table or, more accurately, dancing on the table, as he used his feet and another knife to fend off… tiny pieces of pineapple? Sam did a double take. Yes, those were tiny pineapple segments with tiny mouths and even tinier fangs. The attacking fruit were viciously gnashing their miniscule teeth as they swarmed toward the elder Winchester. And they each seemed to be chanting – Sam listened more closely. Indeed, every chunk was repeating “nom nom nom” in high, squeaky voices as they actively tried to devour his brother. Man-eating pineapple… something about that rang a bell. The hunter thought for a moment, then his eyes lit in realization. That was it: Gabriel and the strange piece of trivia he’d left Sam with. This was clearly the trickster angel’s handiwork. And, despite his brother’s predicament, he couldn’t help the grin that stretched across his features at the archangel’s antics. It was quite clever, Sam had to give him that.

At that moment, Dean caught sight of his little brother in the doorway and shouted, flailing wildly at the savage specimens of prank-created botany, “Dude, a little help, please? These things are vicious!”

The younger Winchester shook his head, still unable to control his smile. “Gabriel,” he called, quietly but firmly.

A second later, the archangel in question stood amidst the chaos, lollipop clamped between his lips and a mischievous gleam in his golden eyes. He took a slow, deliberate lick of his candy, gaze locked onto Sam’s face, then said, “You rang, Sammykins?”

The hunter could feel a blush trying to crawl its way up his neck, but he schooled his features into his best bitchface and gestured toward Dean, who was now stomping on the ferocious pineapple, to very little avail. “Um, what the hell, Gabriel?” he asked, attempting to sound more exasperated than he actually felt. He was pretty certain he came closer to “fond amusement.”

Gabriel plastered the most innocent expression he could manage across his features, which fell short of innocent by about a mile, especially when Sam could still see the edges of a smirk peeking out. “But, Sammy,” the archangel replied, placing a hand over his heart in mock sincerity, “I told you, when you eat pineapple, it eats you back, remember?”

Sam burst out laughing, head thrown back and shoulders shaking with mirth. He couldn’t help it; the trickster angel was just too much sometimes.

“Dude!” Dean protested, staring at his brother incredulously as he vainly tried to push away the pineapple that was now swarming up his legs. The younger Winchester calmed himself with a few deep breaths and looked back to Gabriel. The archangel was still watching him, but now something more than just amusement was glittering in his golden eyes. Sam could feel the temptation to lose himself in that gaze, but tore his own hazel eyes away before he could get any more distracted.

“You did tell me that, yes,” he answered, amusement seeping into his tone. “But, still, as it would be a little awkward to tell anyone that I lost my brother to death by pineapple, do you think, maybe, you could call off your attack fruit?”

Gabriel released a very put-upon sounding sigh, but he grinned as he snapped his fingers. Instantly, the kitchen cleared of any and all evidence of the vicious foodstuff. Dean cautiously climbed down off the table, glancing around, clearly not trusting the trickster. Finally satisfied that nothing was going to jump out and try to chomp on him again, the elder Winchester looked up at Gabriel in astonishment.

“Son of a bitch, Sam was right. You really are back,” he said, his tone a mix of apprehension, annoyance, and the tiniest bit of awe. Sam shot his brother a quick glance full of “I told you so” that Dean expertly ignored. “Okay, so what do you want, besides annoying us?”

Gabriel grinned. “You hit the nail on the head there, bucko. My main goal in my after afterlife is to annoy the hell out of the Winchesters.” The sarcasm lacing his voice was so strong, a deaf man could have heard it.

Dean glared and flipped him off, before moving on to his next question. “So how – ?”

Just has he had with Sam, the archangel cut Dean off before he could finish. Turning to the younger hunter, he said brightly, “Hey, Sammich, by the way, I thought you should know that the natural predator of the moose is the orca. You might want to watch out.” And, with a wink and a snap, he was gone.

Dean turned a confused gaze on his brother. Sam grimaced. “Don’t ask.”

The older Winchester just shook his head and then frowned. “Man, I don’t know about having that dick hanging around again,” he said, tone verging on worried. “I wish Cas would get his feathery butt down here, just to tell us if that trickster is on the up and up.”

Sam considered this for a moment. Dean had a point, it _would_ be nice to know what Castiel thought about the situation. But Dean’s special angel friend didn’t seem to have his ears on. Again. And, at the same time, Sam found himself believing that Gabriel wouldn’t intentionally hurt them.

“I don’t know, man,” he answered his brother, “I think I trust him. I mean, think about what he did for us during the Apocalypse.”

Dean raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “Dude, he just sicced pineapple on me. Pineapple!”

Sam shrugged, fighting the grin again trying to stretch across his face. “Hey, it could have been worse,” he replied, “Gabriel could have buried you in pineapple. And wouldn’t that have been a gross, acidic mess?”

The elder Winchester wrinkled his nose at the thought, then scowled, but let the matter drop. He walked back to the counter and his abandoned lunch prep, muttering. Sam thought he heard something about “fricken tricksters” and “stupid brothers” and “never eating pineapple again.” He headed back to the war room, chuckling a little as he picked up where he had left off on the potential case.

That night, as Sam entered his room, he was sure a quiet snap echoed around the space. Despite his earlier assurances to Dean, he was instantly on guard; one could never be too careful when it came to Gabriel. But he needn’t have worried. The only change to the room was the addition of a small stuffed toy placed carefully in front of his pillow. Coming closer, Sam realized it was an orca. He picked up the toy, grinning, before getting ready for bed. And, if he fell asleep that night with his hand brushing the plush toy’s soft fabric, well, that was no one’s business but his own.


	3. Chapter 3

So it went for the next few weeks – no matter where they were, whether at the bunker on a hunt, Gabriel would find them and snap in at the most random and inopportune moments, always leaving behind a strange piece of trivia and a not-wholly-uncomfortable tension in Sam’s chest. Occasionally, the tidbits turned into pranks much like the Pineapple Incident. Like the time he told the hunter about the bananas. “Did you know bananas have three stages of ripeness?” he’d asked. Sam shook his head no. “Well, they do!” exclaimed the archangel. “The starch stage, when you pick ‘em, the sugar stage, when you eat ‘em, and the alcohol stage, when you bake with ‘em.”

Before he thought to stop himself, Sam had said the first thing that popped into his mind, “So… when you make banana bread, you use drunk bananas?”

At that, Gabriel had roared with laughter, amber eyes gleaming in a way the hunter found dangerously alluring. Three days later, Dean opened the fridge to find that several overripe bananas he’d been saving to bake with had gotten ahold of his beer and were throwing a grand old party in the produce drawer. His ensuing strangled should of, “Gabriel, you bastard!” was enough to make Sam wince from three rooms over and come running to see what was up, though he couldn’t quite suppress his smile and laugh-snort at the trickster’s latest prank; he had basically been the inspiration for it, after all.

Usually, nothing else came of Gabriel’s visits, except for very small, almost unnoticeable additions to Sam’s room – a book he’d been intending to buy showing up on his shelf or a burned out light bulb he hadn’t found the time to change yet suddenly having power again. Just little things, really. But Sam appreciated them nonetheless and sent up a silent “thank you” each time.

Other times, though, the hunter would have happily strangled the trickster angel if he could. Once, Sam had been in the shower, relaxing in the steam and sloughing off the grime of their latest salt-and-burn when he heard the unmistakable snap and barely-there rustle of wings he’d learned to recognize as Gabriel announcing his presence. The hunter tried not to groan as he peeked around the edge of the shower curtain. Sure enough, the archangel was there, perched on the counter next to the sink, legs dangling, and smirk fixed in place as his eyes met Sam’s.

“Heya, Samster!”

Retreating back to the illusive safety of the shower, Sam hit his head against the wall, growling his exasperation as he did so. “Gabriel, I’m in the shower!” he called, allowing his annoyance to leak into his tone.

“I can see that, Samarino,” the archangel called back, sounding unperturbed.

The hunter waited for the quiet noises that would indicate the other man had taken the hint and left, but they never came. Sighing, he ran a hand through his wet hair and asked, “Do you think you could, oh, I don’t know, leave so I can shower in peace?”

Gabriel laughed, a bell-like sound. “Now, what would be the fun in that, Sammy? No, I think it would be much better if I sat out here and kept you company. I can entertain you!” He then proceeded to share facts about everything from sponges (“If you push a living sponge through a fine mesh screen, it will rearrange itself in a few hours!”) to honey (“Honey is the only food that never expires. The same honey that was buried with the pharaohs in Egypt is still edible. Not very appetizing to look at after all these years, but still pretty tasty,” - it really shouldn’t have surprised the hunter that the archangel had eaten centuries-old honey).

It was the longest and most awkward 20 minutes of Sam’s life. The sound of the archangel’s clear voice and the thought that only the thin barrier of the shower curtain separated them kept the hunter eminently uncomfortable the entire time. Which was probably Gabriel’s intention, damn him. At one point, he even almost considered inviting Gabriel into the shower with him, if only to ease the tension that had seemed once again to build between them since the angel’s return. But he quickly labeled that as a Very Bad Idea and finished washing as quickly as possible, considering the circumstances.

Eventually, the water began to run cold and Sam endured it, shivering, as long as he could, debating between trying to wait out the archangel’s usually limited attention span or begging for escape. His self-preservation instincts and the call of his nice, warm bed finally won out. “Gabriel,” his teeth chattered a little as he spoke, “I need to get out now. There’s no hot water left and I’m _freezing_. Please, please, please leave so I can dry off and go to bed.” He would never admit it, but his voice became a plaintive whine towards the end of his (very reasonable) request.

The trickster heaved a very put-upon sounding sigh. “Well, if I must, I must. Wouldn’t want you to freeze to death in the shower. See ya, Samsquatch!” And with a snap and a rustle, he was gone.

Sam peered into the bathroom, which was definitely now angel-free (or as definite as it could be when dealing with a being that frequently made itself invisible). The hunter turned off the water and stepped out the tub gratefully, happier than he’d ever been to finish a shower.

Aside from incidents like that, however, the archangel’s appearances, trivia, and pranks were relatively harmless. Though Dean was in a near-constant state of pissiness at the trickster’s antics, Sam fondly tolerated them. He even found himself somewhat enjoying Gabriel’s visits; learning new facts and imagining what pranks could possibly come from them kept his mind in a happy buzz of thought. And verifying the archangel’s imparted knowledge was a more than fascinating way to spend his downtime. The research involved spun him off in so many new directions that he began to keep a notebook where he jotted down interesting tidbits. Slowly, Sam realized that, far from just tolerating Gabriel’s presence or even simply enjoying the information passed on, he was eagerly anticipating each visit. The hunter was on pins and needles, but the good kind - like a kid at Christmas, waiting impatiently for the archangel to show up. Sam’s new favorite hobby was seeking out his own stash of random facts, on the slight hope (which he didn’t consciously acknowledge) that eventually he could surprise Gabriel by already knowing what the angel had come to impart. He took to sharing these bits of minutiae with his brother (“So, get this, did you know that when hippos are upset, their sweat turns red?”). Every time he did, Dean just looked at him like he was crazy and turned back to whatever he’d been doing, often grumbling about “little brothers and their psychotic archangels.”

But not even Dean’s grousing could dampen Sam’s enjoyment, so he continued his pastime. And then the inevitable happened. While the Winchesters were once more preparing to impersonate government officials for a case, Gabriel snapped his way into their hotel room. Turning at the familiar sound, the brothers caught sight of the angel lounging on Sam’s bed, legs crossed at the ankles, hands tucked behind his head, customary lollipop dangling from his lips. Sam had just been thinking about his most recent foray into the trivia world and a fascinating podcast he’d discovered yesterday evening that was chock full of useless information. Eager to share with someone who wouldn’t complain, the hunter jumped in before Gabriel could even open his mouth. “Hey, Gabe, did you know that Chicago is the candy capital of America?”

The angel’s eyebrows skyrocketed toward his hair and a shocked look settled on his face that seemed like it intended to take up residence indefinitely. Sam presumed the surprise came more from beating Gabriel to the punch than from him not knowing that particular fact; this was Gabriel, after all, the trickster-archangel with a candy addiction that would have caused diabetes in a human within a week. The hunter grinned, feeling accomplished that he had managed to stun the angel.

Slowly, Gabriel’s features morphed into a pleased smirk, a challenge (and something else that made Sam’s breath catch) darkening his amber eyes to liquid gold. “Oh, so that’s how you want to play it, Sambo?” he purred, voice matching the look in his eyes. “It is _so_ on, Winchester.” And then he was gone.

Dean had been silent through the whole exchange. But now, glancing from Sam to where Gabriel had been moments before and then back, the elder Winchester glared at his brother. “Shit,” he swore, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And I thought this – whatever you two have going – couldn’t get any worse.”

Sam only smiled wider in response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case: the podcast I mention is very much not real, just created as a literary device, so don't go looking for it.


	4. Chapter 4

After that, there was no holding back and facts were traded in rapid fire. One morning, while Dean was making breakfast, Sam was combing through the library looking for anything they could add to their woefully limited knowledge of ahuizotl (which _normally_ weren’t seen as far north as the US, but “normal” never applied to the Winchester experience). With a completely unnecessary gust of wind that sent Sam’s papers flying, Gabriel was suddenly seated on the table right in front of the hunter. Without any preamble, he stated, “Hey, Samasaurus, did you know the fear of being tickled by feathers is called pteronophobia?”

Sam countered with his own trivia without batting an eye. “Did you know banging your head against a wall burns 150 calories an hour?”

 “If you lift a kangaroo’s tail off the ground, it can’t hop.”

“If Pinocchio said, ‘My nose will grow now,’ it would cause a paradox.”

The archangel looked like he actually had to think about that one for a minute, then giggle-snorted and snapped away with a grin.

He was back three days later. “King Henry VII slept with a gigantic axe beside him. Seriously, Samster, the thing was huge.”

“You mean you’ve actually seen it?” Sam asked, incredulous.

Gabriel didn’t even dignify that question with an answer, just a look that spoke volumes.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Whatever, Gabriel. We can’t all be powerful supernatural beings who can time travel. Or have lived through all of human history. Did you know the French language has seventeen different words for ‘surrender’?”

“Seems about right. Did you know a baby octopus is about the size of a flea when it’s born?”

“’Do geese see god?’ can be read forwards and backwards. So, tell me, Gabe, do they?”

“Cherophobia is the fear of fun. Is that your fear, Sam-a-lam?”

Sam decided sticking his tongue out at Gabriel was the only response that question deserved. He moved on to his next fact. “Bananas are curved because they grow towards the sun.”

“There are 1665 steps in the Eiffel Tower. Not that I’ve actually walked them, that’s for beings without phenomenal cosmic powers.”

“Birds don’t urinate.”

“An arctophile is a person who collects or is very fond of teddy bears,” Gabriel said, before vanishing.

The morning after that little tidbit, Sam awoke to a room suddenly overflowing with teddy bears. He donated all of them, except one, to a local children’s charity. The one that he kept was wearing a little green jacket and holding a lollipop. Sam just couldn’t bring himself to give it away. He also couldn’t help the way his stomach flipped at the pleased gleam in Gabriel’s eyes when the angel noticed the little bear tucked away on one of Sam’s shelves, next to the stuffed orca.

A couple days later Gabriel snapped in again at the boys’ hotel where they were working a case in Topeka. Sam spoke before the trickster angel could get a word in. “Did you know ‘Topeka’ is from a Native American word meaning ‘a good place to dig potatoes’?”

Gabriel countered, “Did you know that in Peru they eat guinea pigs?”

Sam stopped, his next piece of trivia frozen on his lips. “I actually already knew that,” he said. The angel blinked once, twice, and then, with a huff of annoyance, snapped away.

Then Gabriel began appearing even more frequently, sometimes two or three times a day, popping in just long enough to impart some tidbit before popping out again. It sometimes seemed that he was trying to startle Sam into forgetting whatever piece of trivia he’d planned to share, as the angel would choose the strangest of times and places to materialize. But the hunter remained unperturbed, even the time that Gabriel showed up sitting on his chest while he lay in bed. Sam just proceeded to calmly state whatever minutiae he’d collected (“Did you know that the plastic things on the end of shoelaces are called aglets?”) and then smile, because he had a sneaking suspicion it drove the archangel slightly bonkers.

So Gabriel changed tactics and it became a contest of one-up-manship. If Sam shared a fact about animals (“A lion’s roar can be heard from five miles away.”), Gabriel shared a slightly stranger one (“Elephants are the only animal with four knees”). When Sam told the angel about Annie Edson-Taylor, the 62 year old widowed ex-schoolteacher who was the first person to ride over Niagara Falls, Gabriel jumped into the tale of Clem Sohn, an airshow daredevil known as “the batman” because he could glide through the air in his homemade wingsuit (even Dean found that story interesting, although he would sooner have kissed a snake than admit to it).

On and on it went, back and forth, from the “Walk of Fame” dedicated to famous Michiganers in Lansing, Michigan, clear to the oldest frozen food company (Birdseye). If Dean had been annoyed before, it was nothing compared to the exasperation he was experiencing now that both his brother and his least favorite angel were being irritating fountains of useless information. The older Winchester took to stomping around the bunker with a perpetual scowl that only changed when Gabriel snapped in or Sam started sharing a piece of trivia; then it became a glare full of all Dean’s aggravation. Sam often thought that if looks could kill, he and Gabriel would be dead a hundred times over.

There were perks to the situation, though, even Dean had to accede that. The more Gabriel was around, the easier hunts seemed to become. During research sessions, Sam would get up to stretch and grab a snack only to discover upon his return that his book was open to the exact piece of information he needed or his web browser had somehow opened a page detailing a creature he’d been struggling to identify. Sometimes, a hard-to-find weapon that would drastically improve their chances against the monster of the week would show up wedged into the back corner of the Impala’s truck. Dean would grumble a little about angelic freaks touching his car (which, Sam suspected, was why the weapons were deposited there instead of inside the bunker) but, ultimately, Sam could sense his brother’s grudging gratitude for the assistance.

But, in Sam’s mind, the best new development had nothing to do with cases. One day, while walking from his room to the library, he heard voices coming from the room where Dean had insisted on installing a TV. Fearing the bunker had been compromised, the hunter drew his gun and stealthily crept to the door. He glanced into the room, but no one appeared to be there. The TV, however, was on. He swept the room to ensure it was clear, then went to turn off the machine. At that moment, the current show returned from commercial break and immediately caught Sam’s attention. It appeared to be some sort of historical trivia show. He sat down to watch it, enthralled. Seconds later, a certain mildly irritating archangel appeared stretched out on the couch, his head in the hunter’s lap. Sam didn’t even flinch.

“Whatcha watchin, Sammy?” Gabriel queried.

“It’s called Mysteries at the Museum,” Sam replied, “Now hush, I want to hear this.”

The angel rolled his eyes but smiled fondly as he snapped up a bucket of popcorn. He tucked it between Sam’s legs and the armrest of the couch, where they could both reach it, and settled in to watch. A few minutes later, drawn by the noise of the TV, Dean walked in. When he spotted the pair snuggled on the couch, Sam running his fingers through the archangel’s hair with his eyes glued to the screen, he threw his hands up in disgust and muttered about oblivious brothers. But he didn’t complain when, later that day, a hunt they’d been preparing for in a nearby town resolved itself as if it had never been. And, though he certainly could have done without the show becoming a weekly routine for Sam and Gabriel, Dean certainly didn’t mind a few other cases resolving themselves in the same manner.

So, for once, things were looking up for the Winchesters. Which, in hindsight, maybe should have been their first clue that something was about to go wrong. Good luck wasn’t a part of the Winchester lifestyle. But between hunting, Gabriel’s increasingly frequent visits, and Sam’s growing certainty that his feelings about the archangel had left fondly tolerant far behind ages ago, everything was too much of a whirlwind for either brother to stop and think about it all crashing down.

It was supposed to be a routine hunt. So, naturally, it was anything but.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, unlike the podcast from the previous chapter, Mysteries at the Museum is very much a real TV show. It's on the Travel Channel, I love it, and it's where a lot of the trivia for this story came from. If you get a chance, you really should watch it!


	5. Chapter 5

Everything pointed to a werewolf. Everything: the timing, the locations of the victims, the claw marks, the missing hearts. So they didn’t look any further. Why should they? No other hunter would have. Honestly, even knowing what came later, Sam is sure that, given the exact same information, he’d have come to the exact same conclusion. So they mapped out the killings and pinpointed the center of it all. With just a little google-fu and a dab of persuasive charm, they discovered the house belonged to one Davey Spencer, mid-thirties, a “nice young man, very quiet, I think he’s a little shy, likes to take his walks after dark, when the sidewalk’s not so busy,” according to one sweet old, rather nosy but eminently helpful, neighbor lady.

Armed with this confirmation of their theory, as well as a couple silver knives apiece and pistols loaded with silver bullets, Sam and Dean crept into the supposed-werewolf’s home just before moonrise on the last day of the full moon cycle. Dean motioned Sam to the left, towards the kitchen, while he edged into the living room. That’s when all hell broke loose. There was a loud THWACK and Dean let out a pained yelp. Silence fell for only a moment, quickly swallowed up by the low rise and fall of a man’s voice chanting. Sam raced into the living room, shouting for his brother. The sight that met his eyes was terrifying, mostly because it was so unexpected and they were so unprepared for it. Dean lay unconscious near the entry to the room and the man they’d both so easily categorized as a werewolf was kneeling over a low altar, his dark hair falling over his eyes, still chanting as he added the ingredients to his spell. Sam aimed his gun; silver might not do much to this particular beast, but a bullet to the heart certainly could.

But in the micro-second between aiming and moving his finger to the trigger, the hunter’s gun clattered to the ground. Sam fell to his knees in agony; white-hot claws seemed to be ripping at his chest. Sure enough, when he tore open his shirt, he could see claw marks beginning to form a bloody trail over his heart and down over his stomach. He clutched at his chest, biting back a scream. So this is how the victims had died – not a werewolf but a witch mimicking a werewolf. Incredibly clever in its deceptive simplicity.

Sam could see black edging into his vision and knew he needed to act quickly; he might be a goner but Dean was still alive. The witch had clearly pegged them as hunters and if he had planted a hex bag on Sam, there was probably one on Dean, too. With the last vestiges of his strength, the hunter grabbed for his gun, but his arms refused to cooperate and all he managed to do was knock the weapon further from his reach. His mind flailed wildly, panicked, and a ludicrous image popped into his head: Gabriel, with that damn lollipop in his mouth and that “Helloooo! Archangel!” smirk plastered across his features. Without much conscious thought, the hunter latched onto the idea and acted before he could think better of it. Doing the first thing that came into his mind, praying with all his considerable will, Sam cried out, “Gabriel, help!”

And, abruptly, the chanting stopped. But not in the way that meant the spell was finished, with a triumphant tone of victory, no. Rather, the witch’s voice choked off, like he suddenly didn’t have enough air. Just as suddenly, the searing pain in Sam’s chest lessened and he could breathe again. With the incoming rush of oxygen, the blackness lining his sight receded and he had control of his extremities once more. Scrambling for his gun, the hunter decided getting to his feet was probably too taxing a task at the moment, so he simply steadied his kneeling position and looked up. What he saw had him gasping for air again.

Gabriel had resolutely planted himself between Sam and the witch, shoulders tense, one arm outstretched like Darth Vader force-choking an Imperial commander, the other securely gripping his archangel blade. But what really took Sam’s breath away were the three huge pairs of golden-hued wings stretching out from Gabriel’s back. They weren’t exactly _wings_ per se – more like crackling masses of wing-shaped energy. But they held the suggestion of sweeping feathers and Sam found himself fighting the urge to reach out and touch the one nearest him. Except, when he had to squint to look at them and even then his eyes began to ache after too long, he figured coming into direct contact with one might not be the greatest of ideas.

The archangel was saying something to the witch, voice taut with some tightly-controlled emotion that Sam couldn’t quite name. But the hunter’s ears didn’t appear to be working properly – he was having a hard time hearing the angel. Straining to make out words, Sam’s brow furrowed in confusion. Gabriel seemed to be berating the witch for messing with things that didn’t belong to him. That couldn’t be right; Sam decided he was still shaking off the effects of the spell.

At that moment, Gabriel said, “Now, you just sit tight, little man, and I’ll deal with you in a moment.” The angel turned his head to glance at the hunter behind him. His face looked much the same as it always did – superficially open and guileless, smirk firmly in place – except for his eyes. The amber orbs now held a crackling golden hue that matched the arching wings, as well as the emotion that had so puzzled the hunter earlier. Sam could identify it now; it was fury, sheer and unadulterated, and he was incredibly grateful it wasn’t directed at him.

“You okay there, Samshine?” Gabriel asked, his tone deceptively light. Sam could only nod, struck dumb by the bizarre turn of events and rapid-pace change of fortune.

The archangel shot him a quick, tight-lipped smile, so different from his usual easy grin. “Good. I’m gonna need you to close your eyes now. This next part could get a little bit bright.”

Sam glanced over at his brother. Dean was still out cold, but there was always a chance he could come to at the wrong moment. Gabriel followed the hunter’s gaze, considered the elder Winchester’s prone form for a second, then nodded. “Better safe than sorry,” he quipped as a hot pink blindfold materialized over Dean’s eyes. “Now you, too, Sammy, close those beautiful eyes of yours, please.” Sam nodded and did as he was asked. He’d seen the results of angelic burnout and had no desire to be on the receiving end.

Everything was silent for a moment, then Sam heard a rustling, followed by the faint whisper of Gabriel’s voice coming from the direction of the witch’s altar. Then the witch whimpered and cried, “Please don’t kill me! I was only defending myself! Please!”

The former trickster laughed, a cold humorless bark. “Kill you? Who said anything about killing you? Oh no, you’re going to serve as a warning, to your kind and all the rest of the creeps out there, of why it’s a very good idea not to touch things that aren’t theirs.

There were more muffled whispers from the witch and then, even through Sam’s closed eyelids, the world lit up with white, accompanied by a rising tone of such magnitude that the hunter jerked back with a wince. Finally, everything went totally, blessedly, silent. After a moment, Sam chanced a quick glance, peering through barely parted eyelids. When he didn’t immediately go blind, he opened his eyes all the way and stared across the room at the archangel that had just saved their asses. Gabriel was standing above the prone figure of the witch, who lay next to his shattered altar. Sam couldn’t see the angel’s face, but was fairly certain he knew what it looked like; he’d seen the trickster’s “justice has been served” expression often enough to picture it – a cold gleam lighting the gold of his eyes and a twisted, self-satisfied grin. It wasn’t what Sam considered one of Gabriel’s best looks, but he felt it was fully justified in this case.

Finally, the hunter pulled himself together and found his voice. “Is… is he dead?” he asked hesitantly.

Gabriel prodded the form on the ground with the toe of his shoe. “Nah. Just severely debilitated and broadcasting to the rest of the supernatural community that you two are off limits. And he’ll never practice magic again, I can guarantee that.” The trickster considered the unconscious witch for a moment longer, then glanced at Sam. “He may also experience unreasonable panic every time he encounters feathers from now on but, as one of my current favorite TV characters is fond of saying, ‘magic always comes with a price, dearie.’ I don’t think it should inconvenience him too badly, do you?” And Gabriel began laughing, pleased at his little piece of petty revenge. After a moment, Sam started chuckling, too; the angel’s laughter was as infectious as always.

A short time later, their giggles subsided and Sam sighed. He locked eyes with Gabriel, studying the gold-flecked amber. “Thank you, Gabe,” he said seriously. “That could have ended a lot differently.”

The archangel shifted uncomfortably and ran a hand through his thick golden hair. “Aww, don’t mention it, Sammy. You asked for help and I helped. That’s all there was to it.”

The hunter was about to disagree and, perhaps, press Gabriel to explain what he’d said to the witch, when Dean began to stir. Taking a deep breath, or trying to since it hurt more than he expected, Sam attempted to get to his feet. A look of panic crossed Gabriel’s face and he started, “I wouldn’t – ” That was the last Sam knew for some time as he blacked out and tumbled to the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter was later than normal - I had a busy afternoon and then a theater commitment during the time Supernatural was on, and so then I had to watch the new episode ASAP. Thank you for waiting!


	6. Chapter 6

When Sam came to, his head was pillowed on something that smelled lightly of mint and ozone, and Dean and Gabriel were arguing. Damn. He’d thought they were past that.

“ – aren’t you healing him!?” Dean was shouting.

“I told you!” Gabriel snapped back, “That spell was complicated and I don’t want to mess anything up! I swear, your brother is held together with duct tape and superglue the way it is, he doesn’t need me mucking about in there!”

Sam blinked open his eyes. Gabriel was kneeling next to him in his shirtsleeves, paused in the act of wrapping a gauze bandage around Sam’s head. Fire danced in the archangel’s eyes as he glared at Dean stomping around on the other side of the room. The elder Winchester was glaring right back and had opened his mouth, about to retort something he’d probably end up regretting. Sam decided his head hurt too much to listen to anymore shouting, so he spoke up before Dean could say anything. “Hey, Gabriel, did you know that a group of scientists bred goats that can produce spider silk in their milk?”

In an instant, Dean was also at Sam’s side and Gabriel was gazing down at him, blinking rapidly. The archangel let out a sound that could have been a sob but was more likely a laugh. “Good to know you’re still among the living there, kiddo!”

Sam smiled weakly up at him.

“You okay there, Sammy?” Dean asked.

“Define ‘okay.’” The younger Winchester winced as he tried to shift position to be more comfortable. It didn’t work. The floor was hard and his ribs ached. He turned his attention back to Gabriel. “Not that I’m upset or anything since you just rescued our asses,” he said, “but I thought you healed me?”

The archangel sighed. “I did what I could, Sam, enough to keep you alive. I’m sorry I can’t do more, but as I was just explaining to _this_ numbskull,” he gestured at Dean, who scowled, “that hex was incredibly complex and, after all the times your system has been messed with, you aren’t exactly the picture of health. Trying to heal your injuries any more than I have would be like trying to disarm a bomb with only the knowledge that I have to cut the green wire – and all the wires are green.”

Sam nodded his understanding. It wasn’t like he’d never been hurt before and had to heal on his own; he would manage. “So, what’s the damage?” he asked.

Gabriel checked the injuries off on his fingers. “Three cracked ribs, a bruised lung, a couple of small tears in your spleen, all partially healed, as much as I felt was safe. Plus, a sprained wrist and a nasty cut on the back of your head from when you collapsed. I was just about to bandage those when Deano over there woke up and started freaking out.”

Sam raised an eyebrow at the mention of Dean and decided enough was enough. “Cut it out, Gabriel. He had every right to be worried,” he chastised the angel, who half-scowled, but nodded his agreement.

“If you say so. Now, the smartest place for you to go would be the nearest hospital, but I’m guessing that’s gonna be a no?”

Sam and Dean both grimaced and shook their heads in tandem.

The archangel sighed and muttered, “Winchesters.” He considered Sam for a long moment. “Fine,” he said, “I’ll take you back to that damned cellar you call home, but only on one condition.”

Sam tried not to let his suspicion show on his face; Dean apparently didn’t try at all. “What condition?” the elder Winchester almost growled. “I swear, Gabriel, if you’re trying to pull something…”

The angel held his hands up defensively. “Down, boy. No tricks, I promise. Sam really does need to be monitored by a medical professional but since that’s not an option, I’ll need to keep an eye on him myself. So if you two wanna go back to your armory, I’m going with you. And staying until Sam is better.”

Sam almost smiled, but reined it in just in time. Of anything Gabriel could have asked, nothing could have made the hunter happier. To have the archangel nearby, not constantly snapping away for weeks at a time – maybe he could finally get some answers to all the questions he’d build up. If nothing else, he would relish the extra time with the former trickster, store it up while he had the chance.

Dean wasn’t so easily appeased. “And what’s in it for you?” he asked, eyes narrowed.

Gabriel smirked, his trickster persona firmly back in place. “Call it a long-term investment.”

*********

Despite strenuous protest on Dean’s part, Gabriel insisted on snapping them all (including the Impala) back to the bunker. Sam would have lost it at the sight of Dean’s face as he raced off to check on his baby – if his cracked ribs and bruised lung didn’t hurt so badly, that is.

“I swear, dickbag, if you put one little dent in my car…!” the elder Winchester yelled as he headed for the garage.

“She’s fine, I didn’t do anything to her!” the trickster called back. Then he glanced at Sam, mirth twinkling in his eyes. “Leaving a scaly little surprise in the glove box, on the other hand, that I might have done.”

At that, Sam did huff out a laugh. And then clutched at his side, feeling any color left in his face drain away as a sharp spike of pain lanced through his entire body. He lurched a little and stumbled.

“Woah, easy there, big guy!” Gabriel caught and held him. It never failed to catch Sam off guard how much strength Gabe had packed into that miniscule body, even knowing that he was an archangel; there seemed to always be some sort of disconnect between what Sam knew about the being next to him and what he could actually observe. It was disconcerting sometimes.

“Okay, Sam-a-lam, let’s get you put to bed.” Gabriel shifted his hold so that Sam could lean on him. As they slowly walked down to the bedrooms, the hunter couldn’t help but wonder why the archangel wasn’t just snapping him to his bed; it seemed inefficient and out of character. But, after glancing down at the figure tucked into his side, Sam decided he didn’t care. He liked the feeling of Gabriel’s arm around him, the way the angel seemed to so effortlessly support the hunter’s much larger frame. Sam let himself lean into the hold, just a little, and sighed. Insanely, his mind began reenacting his old dream about the angel, in which Gabriel’s inhuman strength played a rather integral role. His brain really did have the worst timing. The hunter could feel a blush creeping up his neck and fervently hoped the archangel couldn’t hear his quickened heartbeat and shallow breathing. Or, if he did, that he would just chalk it up to the pain Sam was experiencing. Because there was no way he wanted Gabriel to have that kind of ammunition. He could only imagine how hard the angel would laugh. Or, conversely, how disgusted he might be that Sam-the-abomination-Winchester thought about him that way.

They made it to Sam’s room without incident and, after quick-snapping his clothes to a comfy set of pjs, Gabriel helped him settle into his bed. The hunter was just about to breathe a sigh of relief (both at finally laying down _and_ not being caught out) when Gabriel said his name. Sam looked up sharply. There was a knowing gleam in the trickster’s gaze that made Sam extremely nervous, albeit with a tingly edge of anticipation. But all Gabriel said, as he settled into a previously-not-there armchair next to Sam’s bed, was, “Rest, kiddo. I’ll be here when you wake up.” And with two fingers placed gently against his forehead, Sam slipped into sleep.

*********

When he woke again, the thing that struck Sam the most was how good he felt… until he started to shift and stretch, that is. But even then, he couldn’t remember feeling so well rested since, well, ever. There wasn’t a hunter alive who didn’t carry some sort of nightmare to haunt their sleep and Sam Winchester had it worse than most. And yet, despite getting what felt like at least a full eight hours, the hunter hadn’t suffered from a single one of his terror-filled dreams. It was amazing. It was some sort of miracle. It was –

“Well, good morning, there, Sleeping Beauty. How was your nap?”

It was Gabriel.

Sam ran his palms over his eyes to rub the sleep from them, then turned his head to look at the archangel. “Gabriel.”

The angel beamed a lopsided grin. “Yes, that is my name. Glad to see you still remember it.”

Sam blinked a couple times, attempting to corral his sleep-tumbled thoughts into some semblance of coherency. “You’re here.”

Gabriel quirked a brow at him. “Obviously. Besides, I said I would be. I may have a few faults, but going back on my word isn’t one of them.”

The hunter shook his head. “No, I mean, you’re _still_ here. As in, you haven’t moved in the… wait, how long have I been asleep?”

The archangel lifted his hand as if to check an imaginary wristwatch. “Oh, I’d say about 48 hours, give or take five minutes.”

Sam gaped at him. “You mean, you haven’t moved in 48 hours?”

The angel seemed to consider that for a minute, then raised his brow and answered, “Uh, nope. Been here the whole time. I told you, Sam, I’m here because you need some serious medical monitoring. I don’t know what exactly you’ve been doing to yourself over the last few years, but your insides are more jumbled up than a 5,000 piece jigsaw puzzle. And I’m afraid it’s the secondhand kind that’s missing a few pieces. So, yeah, I stayed put.” Gabriel’s gone had become fierce, almost protective, by the end of his little monologue. The hunter was taken aback by the ferocity in Gabriel’s words and eyes. The only other time Sam had heard him speak like that, Gabriel had been stuck in a ring of burning holy oil and they’d been needling him about his family. All Sam could say in response was, “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh,” Gabriel replied.

The hunter found himself caught in the angel’s golden gaze once again, happily drowning in the presence of this most powerful supernatural being. Sam had so many things he wanted to say, to ask, to know, and they were all on the tip of his tongue when Gabriel clapped his hands together, startling Sam out of his reverie. “Well, you must be starving and you have a brother that has been driven to distraction waiting for you to wake up.”

The archangel walked out of the room and moments later, Dean rushed in. He was carrying a tray and the delicious smell emanating from it made Sam’s stomach rumble. The elder Winchester carefully set the tray down before wrapping his brother in a hug that made Sam wince just a little.

“Geeze, dude,” he quipped when Dean finally let go, “You’d think I was dying or something.” Sam rubbed at his ribs.

But Dean didn’t smile and the look he gave the younger Winchester was grave. “From what Gabriel said, you almost did die, Sammy. And, man, you should have seen the guy while you were asleep. He didn’t leave your side. I’m not even sure he moved. Like, he told me he’d let me know when you were awake, but, you know, I still checked on you. And every time I looked in, he was just sitting there, watching you. I’d have said it was creepy, except he almost seemed… concerned. You know, if I didn’t know the guy, I’d think that he – well, that he cared about you, Sam. Do you know what’s up with that?” Dean asked, puzzled.

Sam just shook his head, wishing he knew how to answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, another late update. Sorry! This time, you can blame Marvel, though. I went to see Avengers: Infinity War.  
> Holy. Cats. Intense doesn't even begin to describe it. Anyway, thanks for waiting again!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early update! Yay!

Life with Gabriel in the bunker was… strangely normal. Well, normal by Winchester standards, that is, which meant the occasional massive trickster prank wasn’t too unexpected. Dean wasn’t the most pleased with Gabriel’s antics, expectedness notwithstanding, as he was usually the target of the angel’s tricks. But they always made Sam laugh, possibly more than he ever had in his life, so the elder Winchester didn’t complain too much. He even joined in and laughed at himself once or twice.

Sam’s favorite prank (aside from the now infamous Pineapple Incident, of course) was the week Gabriel turned Dean’s hair into the equivalent of a human mood ring. Most of the time, his hair was its regular, boring sandy color. But the instant Dean began experiencing any strong emotion, his hair shifted into a matching hue: red when he was angry, blue when he was sad, that sort of thing. Once, his hair even turned hot pink; Sam had his own theories about what feeling was associated with that particular color. Dean had finally managed to contact Castiel, who flapped his way into Sam’s room in the bunker where they were all gathered, as Sam was still on archangel-enforced bedrest. After a brief conference with his brother, Cas assured the Winchesters that Gabriel was indeed being honest (for once) and posed no threat. And Sam didn’t say “I told you so” out loud, but his expression did the talking for him. As he then watched his brother interacting with the trenchcoated angel, he realized that Dean’s hair was becoming a brighter and brighter shade of pink until it was almost neon. Cas noticed, too, and in his usual candid manner asked, “Dean, is there a reason your hair is glowing that obnoxious pink color right now?”

Dean froze, a deer-in-the-headlights expression taking over his face, before muttering something incomprehensible and rushing out of the room as his hair shifted to a deep magenta hue.

Cas stared after him, puzzled. “Did I say something wrong?” he asked.

Gabriel came up next to him, chortling, and clapped the other angel on the shoulder. “Nah, little bro, it wasn’t anything you said. Deano’s just had a bit of a shocking revelation. Give him a little time to adjust.”

Cas still looked confused but nodded slowly, accepting his brother’s assurances. He took his leave with a soft rush of wings. That left Sam and Gabriel to chuckle over Dean’s “shocking revelation” that really only came as a shock to him.

But aside from stunts like that, Gabriel behaved himself. And Sam enjoyed his presence, relished having him close, though he usually very quickly stamped down the nebulous swirl of emotion in his chest whenever he looked at Gabriel. Except, sometimes, he couldn’t quite manage to, not with Gabriel being so concerned and taking care of him the way that he was.

While the hunter was confined to his bed, the archangel could most often be found curled up in the overstuffed armchair he’d conjured, reading (mostly textbooks, Sam found to his surprise, but also the occasional trashy magazine) or watching various shows on channels ranging from Discovery to MTV. And sharing useless information, such as the fact that scorpions glow under black light (“Know what else glows under black light, Sammy?” Gabriel had asked, waggling his eyebrows; Sam had studiously ignored him and denied the blush creeping up his neck). The inane trivia was a constant Sam had come to rely on.

For the most part, during this time, the hunter slept and the pain in his side and abdomen lessened daily. His rest was always quiet now, untroubled by the nightmares he had become so accustomed to. Clearly, Gabriel was blocking them. However, though Sam appreciated the reprieve, it was slightly disconcerting to sleep so soundly and for so long that he actually felt refreshed when he woke up. Yet, thinking about Gabriel taking care of him, protecting him from his own head, sparked a warmth in Sam’s chest that made his heart flutter, just a little. But, of course, there was the teensiest (okay, maybe not so teensy) bit of dread that, when Gabriel finally decided he was tired of playing nursemaid, the nightmares’ return would be even more crippling for their extended absence.

So one day, when he was almost fully recovered and spending twice as much time awake as asleep (though still firmly restricted to bed rest), Sam pulled himself together and asked Gabriel about it. The archangel was lazily thumbing through a criminology textbook, every so often throwing out some interesting fact.

“Did you know there’s a rumor out there that handling fresh pineapple for extended periods temporarily takes away fingerprints? It’s, unfortunately, a myth, so there goes that method of leaving no traces at a crime scene, Samshine!”

Sam wrinkled his nose. “What is it with you and pineapple?”

Gabriel grinned. “Can I help it if it’s a very interesting fruit?”

Sam was attempting to read The Hobbit (an old favorite, but not really able to hold his attention at the moment). Finally, the hunter gave it up as a lost cause when he reread the same sentence for the fifth time. He bookmarked his page and laid the novel down with a sigh. Without looking up from his text, Gabriel raised a brow and asked, “Restless, Sam-a-lam?”

Sam huffed out a small laugh. “A little, maybe,” he replied, “But really, I… can I ask you something?”

The archangel quirked a grin. “Clearly you can, as you just have. But what else would you like to know?”

The hunter shook his head ruefully; trust Gabriel to be a pedant. He sighed. “Well, it’s – it’s about my nightmares. Or lack thereof, actually. I haven’t had a nightmare since… since I was injured.”

Gabriel’s level gaze clearly said, “And your point would be…?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Well,” he continued, only slightly frustrated, “obviously you’re blocking them. But… why?”

There was a brief flicker of something… despondent buried beneath the gold flecks of the archangel’s eyes. It was there and gone so quickly that Sam didn’t know if he’d actually seen it, especially since he really couldn’t understand why it would be there. But then the angel raised his brows at the hunter. “Duh,” he said, his tone conveying how slow he thought Sam was. “Humans heal more quickly when they get adequate rest. I thought that was pretty common sense, even for a Winchester.”

The hunter felt a little sheepish for even asking. Of course Gabriel had a perfectly reasonable explanation for keeping Sam’s nightmares at bay. Much as Sam had begun to hope otherwise, the archangel didn’t seem to have any hidden motives – he was just keeping his word.

Sam sighed and ran his fingers through his hair before making a rueful sound. “Man, then I am not looking forward to being fully healed.”

Gabriel looked taken aback. “Why?”

“Well,” Sam explained, “then you’ll have no reason to keep the nightmares away and… they’ll come back. Probably worse than before.”

The angel tilted his head, considering the hunter with an inscrutable gaze. “Would you...” he paused to take an unnecessary breath. “Would you like the worst of them to be gone for good?”

The hunter’s eyes widened, amazed at the possibility of never seeing burning women or fork-tongued devils in the night ever again. And yet, he hesitated. Gabriel had said it himself – Sam’s insides had already been so totally messed around by practically every other powerful supernatural entity in existence. Maybe trying to heal the nightmares wasn’t the greatest of ideas. But the thought of never again waking in a cold-sweat panic, desperate to save Jessica or escape Lucifer…

Sam closed his eyes, bit his lip, and decided. “Yes.”

There was a light brush of fingertips at Sam’s temple and Gabriel whispered, “Then consider it done.” Sam felt the air from the angel’s words sigh across his cheek and opened his eyes to find Gabriel’s face mere inches from his own. Their eyes locked and Sam’s breath began to stutter. Maybe he’d been wrong about the former trickster having no hidden motives. He kind of hoped he’d been wrong. He hoped… His gaze flicked down to the angel’s lips and…

Gabriel returned to his armchair. Sam hung his head, calming his breathing, mentally kicking himself. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have thought –

His silent self-beratement was interrupted by Gabriel speaking. “Hey, Sammikins, did you know that kissing releases a hormone that helps couples bond? It makes them more attractive to each other.”

The hunter did a double-take. Was Gabriel… teasing him? Though he was staring down at his book again, Sam could see that the archangel had a gleam in his eyes that made Sam’s heart resume its double-time tempo. When he noticed Sam looking, Gabriel gave an exaggerated wink, a little grin playing over his lips. Slowly the trickster stood from his chair and stretched, though he’d only been seated again for a minute or so. The thin strip of skin revealed when the angel’s shirt pulled up as he stretched made Sam’s breath hitch and Gabriel’s grin widened. He sauntered to the door, giving Sam a good view of his hips and backside. Turning at the doorway and leaning against it, Gabriel gave the hunter a long look, full of what Sam hoped was an unspoken promise. But all the angel said was, “I have a small errand to run. Won’t take long. And when I get back, I think we may be able to discuss your return to the land of the living.” With that, he was gone in a flutter of wings, leaving Sam to think, wonder, and truth be told, daydream about impossible things. Just a little.


	8. Chapter 8

Gabriel was as good as his word. Less than an hour later, he was back in the bunker, laden with several satchels and small bags, though what they contained was more than Sam could fathom. Not that the hunter really cared all that much because, as soon as the archangel returned, he gave Sam one final check-over and declared him fit, finally, to get out of bed on his own recognizance. Sam may or may not have even done a little celebratory dance that made them both giggle. And he didn’t really mind all that much when Gabriel’s answer to his unspoken question about returning to hunting was, “Wait just a little longer. Two weeks, tops. Let’s make sure you’re totally up to snuff and no longer in danger.”

That last part seemed a little odd to Sam, as going back to hunting would definitely put him in danger, but he just took it to mean being in no more danger from his most recent injuries and shrugged it off. In the meantime, the hunter relished being able to freely roam the bunker again. Restless from his long confinement, Sam explored every inch of their home as thoroughly as possible, even discovering a few new surprises, such as the fully equipped examination room/morgue (body free, thankfully) and a vault similar to those found in banks. After that find, Sam made a mental note to ask Gabriel for help cracking it open. If the Men of Letters had something locked up, it was either extremely rare or extremely dangerous. Possibly both. And Sam wasn’t horribly comfortable with something like that being in the bunker without someone knowing what it was.

At the same time that Sam was worrying over the possibility of the supernatural equivalent of a nuke lying behind the steel door, he also felt his face heating with a little blush at the thought of the archangel. If the hunter was being perfectly honest with himself, most of the reason he was investigating the bunker so eagerly was on the off-chance that he might run into wherever it was that Gabriel was secreting himself away all day. Sam was positive the angel wasn’t leaving the premises. For one thing, Gabriel hadn’t been entering and exiting rooms in his normal way, by just snapping into and out of existence; rather, he was walking through the door like a being of much less power than an archangel of God. And for another, he had told Sam he’d be busy with… something, but not too far away, in case anything calamitous occurred.

And it was true, if somewhat irrelevant (seeing as the angel could literally will himself anywhere and any _when_ he wanted, whenever he wanted) that, like clockwork, Gabriel strolled into the TV room just in time for the Mysteries at the Museum episode every night. (Also, Sam was 99% sure that wasn’t the normal TV schedule, but then again, what did he know?) And, inevitably, that was also where Sam would find himself at the end of each day of wandering.

The archangel and the hunter easily slipped back into their previous TV-watching habits. Gabriel would go off on tangents about some piece of trivia on the show with his head resting on Sam’s lap and Sam’s hands in Gabriel’s silky-soft locks. Although now, every once in a while, the angel would take the human’s hand and almost absently play with his fingers. When that happened, Sam always lost track of the show for a few moments, adrift in the touch of Gabriel’s hand on his. It was such a small, quiet thing but Sam relished it; he had a dearth of moments like this in his chaotic life, moments where he was content just to be. And he tried to ignore the little voice that told him it would all be taken away because he didn’t deserve this.

His newfound peace didn’t go unnoticed, either. Dean frequently walked in on their TV time but, after a few minutes of pretending to watch with them, would meander back out again with only the barest flicker of an eye roll and a hint of a smile. The elder Winchester also seemed more at ease around Gabriel now; he was less apt to bristle at the archangel’s teasing and even managed to laugh at a few of Gabriel’s terrible jokes. It was nothing short of a miracle and Sam fervently prayed the newfound truce would last – he rather liked the idea of Gabe around on a more or less permanent basis.

And so the two weeks Sam’s archangel doctor had prescribed passed with the same slow quickness as water in a river.

The morning Sam was to be allowed hunting privileges again, he woke with a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. It took him a moment to identify it but when he did, he smiled. Anticipation. He was excited to be back on the job, fighting the good fight, hunting some, as Dean would say, “evil sons of bitches.” If anyone had told him a few years ago that he’d be relishing the chance to go out and kill things, he’d have laughed in their face. But now, after such a long confinement, he was practically itching to get back to it. Once a hunter, always a hunter.

After a quick shower, Sam hastily pulled on some comfortable hunting clothes and ambled toward the kitchen. He could smell pancakes and hoped that’s where he might find the sweets-crazed trickster angel. But when he walked into the room, it was just Dean frying up what appeared to be about five dozen pancakes, flipping them expertly from the pan to the four plates set next to the stove.

Sam eyed the plates, momentarily distracted from his archangel pursuit. “We expecting company?”

“Nah, just Cas,” Dean replied. “He’s never tried pancakes and I decided to fix that.”

The younger Winchester raised an eyebrow at his brother’s too casual tone as he mentioned the angel, but chose to let it slide in favor of returning to his earlier inquiry.

“Have you seen Gabriel? He said I’d probably be able to start hunting again, but he wanted to give me one last check-up before I could go.”

The instant the words were out of his mouth, Sam regretted them. He glanced at Dean, waiting for the inevitable suggestive comment, but it never came. The elder Winchester seemed totally unphased by his brother’s word choice and set a plate of food in front of Sam before answering. “Yeah. He was here just a little bit ago to let me know that Cas was dropping by and also said that if you came looking for him, you were supposed to wait here. He said he won’t be long.”

Sam stared at Dean, perturbed by the way his brother calmly did as Gabriel had asked. And then he became suspicious. That couldn’t be all that had gone down, or Dean wouldn’t be this tolerant of being an angel’s carrier pigeon.

But before the hunter could voice his concerns, there was a shuffling sound at the door, followed by a bright, “Morning, boys!” Sam’s heart skipped a beat as he glanced up at the archangel standing across the room, the light from the converted gas lamps haloing his golden hair. Sam exhaled quickly, almost like he’d been punched in the gut. Tamping down the blush rising up his neck, he quickly looked back down at his food. But he couldn’t shake the image of Gabriel from his mind and soon he was engrossed in committing every detail to memory.

Sam was so lost in his head that he missed the silent exchange between his brother and the archangel. But then Dean cleared his throat a little too loudly and Sam jumped, jarred abruptly from his thoughts. Gabriel was accepting a plate of pancakes from Dean and pointedly saying, “Hey, Deano, I think Cas should be flapping his way down here soon.”

“I’ll just go wait for him in the war room, then,” Dean replied, grabbing the last two plates, then heading towards the door. Pausing briefly, he shot Sam a grin before exiting.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one last reminder that I started writing this while catching up and I was mid-season 8 - I knew nothing about God or season 13.

Sam slowly turned his gaze from his brother’s retreating form to Gabriel, who was busying himself with his pancakes. Sam raised an eyebrow. “What was _that_ all about?” he asked, his tone clearly indicating the former trickster could not wiggle out of answering.

Gabriel shrugged delicately, not pausing from slathering his breakfast with a liberal amount of syrup. “Your brother _might_ have mentioned this morning that you have a few questions for me and I _might_ have said that was a conversation better held never and he _might_ have made certain threats against features of my anatomy that aren’t mentioned in polite conversation if I didn’t man up and get it over with now.”

Both Sam’s eyebrows rose towards his hairline this time. “Might?”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Fine. Did. But at least I managed to convince him it was a bit of a private matter so he had better just bugger the fuck off. So here we are.” Then the archangel sighed and rubbed his eyes. He looked straight at Sam, which the hunter had learned often meant Gabriel was about to lay off his usual superficial crap. “To be completely up front about it, kiddo, Dean is right. I’ve been expecting that you’ve probably had some questions since I came back and I’ve put off answering them long enough. So… shoot. Ask away, Sam-a-lam.”

Sam blinked, caught off guard. He did have a lot of questions, had for a while, but now that it came right down to it, he floundered, unsure which one to ask first. After a moment of expectant silence, Gabriel seemed to realize Sam was at a loss for words and took pity on him.

“Let’s start with an easy one. You want to know how I came back.”

It wasn’t a question, but Sam nodded anyway. Gabriel was right, that was a good place to start.

The archangel tilted his head and studied Sam for a moment, then looked away with a wry twist to his mouth. “Oh, the conventional way. I was kinda hoping you could guess. You’re usually pretty smart, Sammy.”

Sam almost facepalmed. Of course. He couldn’t believe he’d even felt the need to ask. “It was God.”

Gabriel smiled, a tight-lipped, tense little thing so unlike his usual broad grin. “Bingo. Dear old Dad finally saw fit to revive me. The last thing I remember is saving you Winchesters’ asses and my death match with big brother Luci and then… nothing. Less than nothing.” The angel’s eyes clouded over, the normally sparkling gold darkening to a dull, lifeless bronze. “Until, all of a sudden, I could feel Him and it was like…” the angel trailed off.

“Coming home,” Sam whispered, finishing the thought, more than familiar with the feeling.

Gabriel studied him oddly for a long moment, unexpectedly reminding Sam of the way Cas stared at Dean, like he wasn’t quite sure how to categorize the human. But then the former trickster nodded and agreed, “Yeah. It was like that.” He gave Sam one last, searching look before continuing. “It took a while for me to really come back to myself, but I could feel Dad’s presence the entire time. And then I opened my eyes and - ” Gabriel paused, something hollow and deadened flitting across his features so quickly that the hunter almost missed it. Almost.

“He wasn’t there, was He,” Sam guessed.

The archangel let out a bitter huff of air. “Got it in one, Sammikins.”

Sam reached out a sympathetic hand, unsure what comfort he could possibly provide, willing to try anyway. “Gabe, I’m s – ”

But Gabriel cut him off. “Don’t be. After all these years, I’m used to it.” Except his eyes told a much different story; the pain in them was sharp, agonizing, as if this had all happened only hours before rather than months, years, centuries ago.

Sam resonated with that anguish, understood it more completely than Gabriel realized, and so he knew that sometimes prodding it at the wrong time only made everything worse. Switching topics, he started to ask, “So, why –?”

Only, Gabriel didn’t let Sam finish. “Why did Dad bring me back?” he interrupted. “Not a clue.”

The hunter sighed, running his hand through his hair in exasperation. “That’s not what I was going to ask.”

The angel seemed taken aback for a moment. “Oh. It wasn’t?”

Sam shook his head. “No. What I was going to ask was why did you…” he trailed off, taking a deep, fortifying breath before forging onward with the question that had been plaguing him most since the archangel’s return. “Why did you come see me?”

Gabriel blinked at him. Sam rushed to fill the sudden silence with clarifications. “I mean, so soon after you were… returned. What was it you said, you’d been back a day? So… why me?”

The angel sighed, flicking his gaze away for a moment before returning its full power to the hunter. He ran his fingers through his hair in a gesture so familiar, Sam barely refrained from mirroring it. When Gabriel finally spoke, he sounded hesitant, lacking his usual brash confidence. “I… so, my first instinct is to be flippant and say something suggestive and blow you off. But I think you deserve my honesty. I, well… I hoped you’d understand.” He said it as if that explained everything. But it only confused Sam more.

“Understand what?” he asked.

Gabriel laughed. “You know, Heaven made a severe miscalculation when it came to you and Dean and the apocalypse,” the angel stated matter-of-factly.

The hunter was thrown off balance by the sudden change of topic and simply stared at the confounding being across from him. “Huh?”

Gabriel gave him a small half-smile. “Yeah,” he continued, “they assumed that you two chuckleheads fit the job description.”

Sam thought about it for a moment, but he was still lost and told Gabriel as much.

Gabe laughed. “Well, just consider it. Dean, the good soldier, loyal to Daddy dearest, just like Michael, right? Wrong. Because Deano’s first and most important order was to take care of _you_ , his baby brother. And so he did, loyal to _you_ to his last breath. Then there was you, the rebel. But rebellious in what way? Sure, you didn’t agree with your dad, but you also didn’t try to destroy everything he’d ever created or get forcibly cast out and exiled for the rest of time.” Gabriel paused, a touch of pain lacing his tone at the memory, but he shook it off and continued. “Instead, sick of the fighting, sick of your family being torn apart, you ran away. You loved your family too much to take part in its destruction, so you left. And in the end, it’s that same love that saved the world.”

By the end of that monologue, Sam knew he was gaping like a dead fish, but he couldn’t help it. If that was really how Gabriel saw the whole rotten situation… the hunter flushed, heat creeping up his face from being praised by an archangel, especially since he was half-certain he didn’t actually deserve it. Then something else the angel had said clicked. “Wait, when you said I rebelled by running away, did you mean…?”

“That my big brother wasn’t the only black sheep of the family? Yeah,” Gabriel finished. Then he winked. “It might have taken me a minute to get there, but as far as I’m concerned, kiddo, you and Luci may have some surface similarities, but you’re still miles apart. You and I, on the other hand… Well, let’s just say there’s a reason I stood against my brother and it had a lot less to do with Dean’s little lecture than I let on.” He paused, looking at Sam for a long moment, the amber of his eyes unreadable, before he went on. “And it’s the same reason that, when I came back, I went to see you. The same reason I hoped you’d understand.”

Again, Sam asked, “Understand what?” Although, this time, he thought he might know the answer.

“Everything,” breathed Gabriel. “Dad, my brothers, me – all of it.”

Sam inhaled slowly. Exhaled. Felt his breath catch at the full implication of the archangel’s words. “I do understand,” he whispered back.

Gabriel huffed out a relieved breath and closed his eyes briefly. Then he opened them again and licked his lips, like he was about to say something more. Unconsciously, the hunter dropped his gaze to track the movement before locking eyes with the angel once again. An almost electric energy seemed to crackle in the air between them and Sam could feel his breath coming more shallowly. Gabriel continued, his voice quiet, serious, “And, Sam? While I’m being honest… I wanted to apologize. For Mystery Spot. I know the shitstorm I put you through and – I’m sorry.” He grimaced. “I was panicked and I told myself I had good intentions, but you know that old saying about the road to hell…” he quipped.

If Gabriel’s tone had been a notch less solemn, Sam might have laughed. He knew that road all too well, had traveled down it so often he might as well have a pass like some people did for toll roads. As it was, Sam merely let a gentle smile tug at his lips and replied, “You don’t need to. I’d never have asked you for help with the apocalypse if I hadn’t already forgiven you.”

The archangel’s answering smile was just as gentle and he studied Sam with a curious look in his eyes. If the hunter didn’t know better, he’d say the stare Gabriel was giving him held an invitation. Or a challenge. Possibly both. Sam bit his lip and –

The smoke alarm went off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cackling with evil writer glee* Love you guys!


	10. Chapter 10

The alarm was blaring like a foghorn in the small space of the kitchen. The Men of Letters certainly did seem to love loud, hearing-loss-inducing alarm noises. Sam jerked his head up, searching for whatever had set off the siren and groaned when he saw the curl of black smoke rising from the pan still sitting on the stove. “Damnit, Dean!” he cursed. With his hands clapped tight over his ears, he made his way over to shut off the burner and take the pan off the heat.

Grimacing at the noise, Gabriel snapped his fingers and blessed silence reigned. Until, of course, with a bellow of “Sam!” Dean rushed through the door, Cas at his heels.

But the older Winchester stopped short when his brother turned, brandishing the still slightly smoking frying pan and sporting his best bitchface. “Forget something, Dean?” Sam asked icily.

Dean at least had the decency to look embarrassed. He rubbed at the back of his head and shuffled his feet. “Oops?”

“Yeah, oops,” Sam replied, rolling his eyes.

The other hunter shifted awkwardly for a few more seconds before clearing his throat and saying, “Well, uh, since you’re, uh, all good here, Cas and I’ll just, uh, yeah. Cas?”

Dean turned to look at the angel, who appeared to be engaging in a very intense and expressive staring contest with Gabriel. Well, expressive on Gabriel’s part, that is; Cas was just intense. Sam and Dean shared a bewildered look before turning back to watch with fascination what was clearly an entirely silent conversation. _Angels are weird_ , Sam mouthed to his brother, who nodded his head emphatically.

The angelic conversation went on for a few minutes longer, each second that ticked by only adding to the awkwardness, until Dean cleared his throat and said, “Uh, Cas? Buddy?”

And, just like that, the discussion seemed to be over. Cas nodded and replied, “Very well. Sam, I’m glad to see you’re feeling better.” Then he gave Gabriel a long, meaningful look before saying, “Good to see you, Brother,” and sweeping out of the room, Dean following and shaking his head at the oddities of angels.

Sam raised an eyebrow at Gabriel. “And what was _that_ all about?”

The archangel laughed brightly. “It was nothing. Cassie can just be a little, ah, protective at times. Especially of you two. Well, mainly Dean. But you, too, because, well, Dean. He was just reminding me to make sure you’re really all good.”

The hunter recognized that tone. It was the one that said, “I’m not being totally honest with you because I don’t think you need to know.” Dean used it all the time. Sam might have pushed it, but Gabriel clapped his hands together and continued, “Did you know the first fire alarm was patented in 1890? And, speaking of alarms, I have something for you.”

“You – what?” Sam asked, bemused at the change in subject.

“I have something for you,” the angel repeated.

The hunter stared at Gabriel, unsure what to expect. “You do?”

“Yup!” Gabe answered cheerfully, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet, like an excited kid. “I’ve been working on it while you’ve been healing, making sure it was ready.”

“What is it?” Sam asked slowly. Knowing Gabriel, it could be anything.

“Well, see, you know how you have that habit of rushing headlong into danger and screw the consequences? And how the last time you did that, you nearly died? How, in fact, if you hadn’t called for me, you would have?”

Sam nodded mutely. The angel’s tone was light, but he had a look in his eyes that made the hunter’s spine tingle.

“I got to thinking,” Gabriel continued. “What if something happens and you _can’t_ call for me?” The archangel had quit bouncing and was now utterly still, staring at Sam with the most serious expression the hunter had ever seen on the former trickster’s face.

Sam let that thought settle for a minute. “Well,” he said deliberately, “I’d die, wouldn’t I? Just like any other hunter.”

Gabriel pressed his lips together into a thin line and took a deep breath. “Yeah. You would. Now, I thought about just tagging along with you and Deano, but I can’t guarantee I’ll always be able to go with you. Plus, driving, hunting, seedy motels… not my thing. So I made you this instead. It’s my own design.” The angel pulled a small yellow pouch out of his jacket pocket and held it out to the human.

Sam eyed the pouch. It looked like… “Is that a mojo bag?” he asked.

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “In crude terms, yes. Only not really. Think of it more as a bodyguard. Or an alarm system. You keep it with you and if you get into something dangerous, it’ll let me know. And I’ll be there.”

Sincerity shone in the archangel’s eyes, echoed in his words, and it floored Sam. “Gabe, I…” Then a thought brought him up short. “Wait. How dangerous is ‘dangerous’?”

“What do you mean?” Gabriel asked, confused.

“I mean, hunting is dangerous work. I know going in to every case that I could get hurt. I can’t have you swooping in all the time, fighting my battles for me.

The archangel’s expression changed to one of exasperation. “I know that, Sam. I wouldn’t expect anything else from you. You’re kind of an adrenaline junkie at this point. ‘Dangerous’ means ‘lethal.’ A situation in which you are in imminent peril of dying and nothing you or anyone with you can do will stop it.” The hunter still hesitated until, finally, Gabriel thrust the pouch at him with a frustrated sigh. “Just take it, Sam, alright?” And then the angel paused and looked down. When he brought his eyes back up to Sam’s, his golden gaze was heartbroken. “I can’t keep patching you up, kiddo,” he whispered.

Somehow, Sam knew Gabriel didn’t mean he’d be incapable of helping the hunter heal. That realization, and the brokenness in Gabriel’s voice, had Sam slowly reaching out to take the proffered charm. As his fingers closed around it, he was almost sure he felt a tingle run up his arm, though it could easily have been just his imagination.

The angel let out a relieved breath. “There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Then he tilted his head, like he was listening to something only he could hear. “Well, sounds like Cassie’s leaving. And I think someone out there is more than ready to get back to hunting. How about you?”

Sam grinned.


	11. Chapter 11

Dean already had a hunt lined up. Something simple for Sam’s first foray after being benched, just a salt and burn a few counties over. In his eagerness to get back to the fray, Sam rushed through packing, throwing clothes and weapons into his duffel bag far more haphazardly than normal, finishing in record time. And yet, when he emerged into the war room, Dean was already waiting at the top of the steps, impatiently checking his watch. He shot Sam a slightly maniacal grin when he saw him that the younger Winchester returned with fervor.

Gabriel was lounging at the table, paging absentmindedly through some text that was probably older than the Egyptian pyramids. He looked up as Sam entered, glancing between the brothers’ matching grins like he doubted their sanity.

“Okay, you two psychos, take the crazy down a notch or ten. It’s just a hunt,” the angel said, rolling his eyes.

Sam’s only response was to laugh, long and loud. He couldn’t help it – he was just so ready to be back on the road, saving people, hunting things. It was what he did, who he was. How Sam Winchester made the world a better place.

As the hunter calmed back down, he noticed Gabriel was watching him intently, Sam the sole focus of the archangel’s attention. It was a sobering and slightly overwhelming, though not totally unwelcome, sensation, being under the angel’s steady gaze. The hunter was suddenly intensely aware how ancient and powerful the being before him was, how Gabriel could snap him out of existence if he wanted to. The thought should have terrified Sam, but all he could feel was a sort of breathless exhilaration, like standing right at the edge of a thousand foot drop, toes dangling out over nothingness, the world stretching away in a dazzling arc below.

“You have the mojo bag?” the angel asked gravely, as though Sam’s safety was truly of the utmost importance.

Sam could only nod in the face of that solemn concern and pat the top left pocket of his jacket to indicate where he’d placed it. Gabriel nodded once, satisfied, and smiled at the hunter, a small, private smile meant only for Sam. Sam let his own smile play across his lips before turning to the stairs. But before he could even set one foot on the bottom step, Gabriel called, “And, Sam?”

The hunter turned back and he gasped, his heart skipping a beat. The angel was _right there_ , scant inches separating him from Sam, and Sam was caught in that whiskey colored gaze for a long moment.

“Yes, Gabriel?” he finally succeeded in asking.

“Be careful,” the angel breathed before vanishing with barely a rustle of feathers.

*********

Dean managed to wait a whole half an hour before he started in on ribbing Sam about Gabriel. Honestly, the younger Winchester was surprised his brother had held off for that long; he’d expected Dean to begin teasing him the second they took off in the Impala.

“So, uh, what was that all about, Sam?” Dean asked, trying and failing to sound casual.

“What was what about, Dean?” Sam replied, knowing his brother wasn’t going to let it go, but stalling anyway.

“Oh, c’mon, man! That thing with Gabriel! All the long looks and ‘Be careful, Sammy’-s!” Dean exclaimed, making his voice overly breathy on the last part and fluttering his eyelashes in mock imitation of the archangel.

Sam rolled his eyes. “It’s nothing, Dean.”

“Nothing, my ass! If it didn’t make me wanna puke, I’d say the damn hobbit had a thing for you.”

Sam cast a sidelong glance at his brother. Though his words were sharp, Dean’s tone was light and the younger Winchester let that discrepancy settle in his thoughts for a minute. He had never even considered that Dean might be okay with Gabriel. And yet, here he was, cracking jokes about it as if having the attention of an archangel-turned-trickster was normal. Of course, in their lives, maybe this is what passed for normal. Sam could feel his shoulders relax, unaware of the tension he’d been holding until it was gone.

“And don’t think I haven’t seen you two all cuddled up on the couch! All nice and cozy and – ”

“It’s not cuddling!” Sam broke in, unable to prevent a blush from rising on his cheeks.

Dean laughed. “‘Not cuddling,’ he says! Ha! You basically pet him, Sammy!”

“Shut up!” Sam’s blush deepened.

“That’s what I thought.” His brother’s voice was triumphant, a smirk clear in his tone.

“Jerk,” the younger Winchester shot back, attempting to sound affronted and failing miserably.

“Bitch,” Dean retorted, easy.

And as he turned to look out the window, Sam couldn’t help the grin that stretched across his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HUUUUUUUUUGE thanks to Strange_Fascination for the assistance writing the part where Dean teases Sam. I never have any trouble writing Sam or Gabriel, but Dean is a lot more difficult for me (and I won't touch Cas with a ten foot pole - you may have noticed he doesn't speak much in this!).  
> Also, I know this was a little bit of a shorter chapter, but that's just the way the chapters broke.  
> Only two more chapters to go!


	12. Chapter 12

That first hunt went well. So did the second and the third… Several months went by and Sam and Dean settled back into routine. Only now that routine included the regular presence of a certain archangel. Gabriel wasn’t in the bunker constantly, as he had been while Sam was healing, but his appearances were now more predictable than they had been before when he randomly snapped in with a bit of trivia or a prank. He was always there before they left on a hunt, lounging around with a piece of candy in his mouth and a piece of snark ready on his lips. However, without fail, the angel always stopped Sam just before the hunter walked out the door, asking first if he’d remembered the mojo bag and then reminding him to be careful. Dean didn’t tease Sam about it again, but each time, he would groan theatrically and tap his foot impatiently. Once in the Impala, though, the older Winchester would glance at his brother with a knowing smirk. Sam would blush and Dean would laugh.

Gabriel was always there when they returned from a hunt. He might be perusing some ancient text in the library or scrounging through the kitchen for food, but he was there. As soon as he saw the boys, he’d ask how their latest hunt had gone and say something suitably snide before snapping off who knows where, trademark smirk firmly in place.

And he was always there on Thursdays if the boys were at the bunker. That was the actual day Mysteries at the Museum was on TV. Eight o’clock would roll around and Gabriel would pop up wherever Sam happened to be (well, _most_ places Sam happened to be), usually with a disgruntled Castiel in tow. The younger angel would be directed to Dean’s location while the archangel would drag an unresisting Sam to the TV room. The hunter secretly suspected Gabriel of attempting a little matchmaking between their clueless brothers. But, as he whole-heartedly approved, he merely looked on in amused silence.

The hunter and archangel would spend the next hour in customary fashion: Gabriel, his head in Sam’s lap, keeping up a running commentary on the show; Sam, his fingers running through the angel’s astoundingly soft hair, simply basking in the peace of the moment.

All in all, it was nearly perfect. And so, in tried and true Winchester fashion, something was bound to go wrong. Again.

*********

Sam wasn’t precisely sure how they had ended up in this situation, with the smell of gun smoke filling the air and a bullet speeding their way. They had been hunting a nest of particularly murderous vampires in southern Missouri. They’d tracked the vamps back to their hideout, mapped all the routes in and out of the building as best they could, and crept in during the midday heat. The extermination had been quick, quiet, and methodical, not a single monster even waking before one of the brothers relieved it of its head.

They had just about cleared the building, sure there were no more vamps but double-checking just in case. They were just walking back into the main room when Sam heard the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked behind him. Knowing that the only weapons either of them had brought in were their machetes and a few syringes of dead man’s blood, both hunters turned around apprehensively.

The pistol aimed at them was expected. The shaking hands holding it, and the person to whom those hands belonged, were not. It was a young boy, maybe eight or nine. He was clearly human, as a vampire, even a child-vamp, wouldn’t need a gun. He was weeping uncontrollably and trying to say something, words made incoherent by his hiccupping sobs. Sam thought he heard the words “my family” but he couldn’t be sure. With a glance at each other, the brothers simultaneously lowered their blood-stained machetes and dropped into “facing a cornered animal” mode. The little boy watched their every move, gun swinging wildly from one hunter to the other. Using his calmest, most placating tone, Sam said, “Hey, buddy. We’re not here to hurt you.”

“Yeah,” Dean added. “Whatever’s happened to you, we’re here to help.” The older Winchester took a tentative step towards the child. And, suddenly, the boy seemed to snap into fight mode. Screwing his eyes shut, the child screamed, “You killed my family!” and pulled the trigger, gun aimed straight at Dean’s chest.

Time seemed to slow down as Sam watched the bullet speed towards Dean. He had just long enough to wonder how the hell this had happened, and then he had no more time for thought, moving unconsciously, throwing himself between his brother and death. He closed his eyes, expecting the sharp pain of the bullet piercing his side at any second.

But it never came. Instead, he was surrounded by a brilliant, blazing light, visible even through his eyelids. He cracked his eyes open, squinting against the brightness, and gasped. Wings, three enormous golden pairs, crackling with energy, were stretched out in front of him as they had been once before, an impenetrable barrier between Sam and impending death.

“Shut your eyes, Sam. You, too, Dean,” the archangel commanded, voice cold and controlled. The hunters knew better than to disobey when an angel spoke like that and complied immediately. The light strengthened until it almost hurt even behind closed eyes. And then it was gone. Tentatively, the Winchesters opened their eyes.

The little boy was nowhere to be seen and the archangel was regarding them with a carefully blank expression. Concerned, Sam started to ask where the boy was, but Gabriel cut him off with a look.

“Before you ask, the kid is fine. He won’t remember any of this – not you or his time with the vampires. As far as he or anyone else knows, he spent the last five years in foster care and was just adopted by a very nice couple from Boise.”

Sam breathed a sigh of relief and ran a hand through his hair. He trusted Gabriel, but years of dealing with the angelic idea of justice wasn’t easy to put aside. “Gabe, thank you, I – ” Sam started to say, but the archangel’s blank mask dropped away and he shot Sam a glare full of so much fury the hunter took an involuntary step backwards

“You don’t get to talk,” Gabriel spat, his voice shaking and venomous. “You – you foolish, stupid – ” he stopped himself with great effort and took a deep breath visibly composing himself. “Castiel,” he called.

A moment later, the seraph appeared with a rustle of wings. “Brother,” he greeted Gabriel, his blue eyes confused. “You called.”

The archangel smiled tightly at his brother and nodded. “Yes. I need you to accompany Dean on his drive back to the bunker.” The tone of command was clear in his voice.

Castiel nodded, then hesitated before asking, “And what about you and Sam?”

Gabriel’s expression hardened and he turned his gaze to the younger Winchester. “Sam and I will be at the bunker. We need to have a little… chat.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it. The last chapter. The end. Are you ready? I'm not sure I am.  
> But I just wanted to say, thank you. Thank you, to all of you who are reading this, enjoying this, whether you've been here since I started posting or just found it today. Thank you for giving it a chance. Thank you for the subscriptions and the kudos and the comments and the bookmarks and all the love you've been sending my way. Reading your comments, knowing how much you've all been enjoying this story, gives me more happiness than you can ever know. So thank you.  
> Enjoy!

Abruptly, Sam found himself in the bunker’s war room, Gabriel standing several feet away with his back to the hunter. Everything about the archangel’s posture screamed “seriously pissed off supernatural being” and Sam waited apprehensively.

Finally, Gabriel turned to Sam. His arms were crossed and he glared at the hunter with an expression of freezing rage. “How could you be so stupid?!” he exclaimed.

Sam opened his mouth to explain, but Gabriel stopped him with an accusatory finger. “No, I already told you. You don’t get to talk. Stepping in front of a bullet, Sam, seriously? I ask you to be careful and then you do that? Taking a bullet for your brother is the _opposite_ of careful! You Winchesters and your damn self-sacrificial streak. You never even considered the consequences, did you?” The angel began to pace around the room, gesturing wildly to emphasize his points. “Never thought about what, _who_ , you’d be leaving behind. I thought you were smarter than that! Thought you’d moved past that whole ‘leap before you look’ mentality! But _noooo_ , that would be too much to hope for, wouldn’t it? That you might remember you have more reasons to stick around than just Dean these days. Did you even think to call for me?!” The archangel’s voice grew louder with each word until the last question was practically shouted at Sam. Gabriel finally halted his pacing and glared at him, clearly waiting for an answer this time.

The hunter started to reply, but then hung his head. “No, I didn’t,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, Gabriel. I just saw that bullet headed for Dean and I –”

“Reacted. Like an idiot,” Gabriel cut in, still angry, but beginning to calm in the face of Sam’s remorse. “Thank Dad I made you that damn charm or you’d be –” The angel swallowed down the next word, unwilling to let even the possibility creep into the room.

The hunter felt ashamed. Gabriel had done so much to heal him, to protect him, and Sam had repaid it all by almost throwing his life away. The angel was right – if he’d called, Gabriel would have protected Dean. “I’m sorry, Gabriel,” he whispered again.

The angel huffed out a breath. “Well, all’s well that ends well, right?” he said bitterly. Sam nodded mutely. Gabriel just looked at him for a long moment, tapping his toe and fidgeting, arms still crossed, his anger still visible in the corners of his eyes, in the tight press of his lips. Then he sighed. “Okay, cards on the table, Sam, I’m still angry at you. And I probably will be for a while. What you did was beyond idiotic. I will forgive you, eventually, but for right now, I just need to calm down. So we are going to go sit on the couch and watch TV and pretend everything is okay.”

Sam nodded and meekly followed the archangel to the TV room. They took their usual places on the couch, Gabriel not even bothering to locate the remote, instead opting to merely snap on an episode of their show.

Soon, Gabriel began his usual prattling and Sam tried to lose himself in the familiar voice, in the familiar feel of silky hair beneath his fingertips. But he just couldn’t stop thinking about Gabriel’s words or the look on the angel’s face. He had been angry beyond anything the hunter had ever seen. But Sam had seen something else beneath the rage, another emotion he’d become very adept at recognizing, thanks to the number of times he’d seen it buried in Dean’s face. It was fear.

The archangel had been afraid, really and truly terrified. And all because of Sam, because he’d nearly died. The realization floored the human. He could barely wrap his mind around it, that the mere _thought_ of his death could frighten Gabriel so badly. And, suddenly, a flood of images, of scenes, coursed through Sam’s memory: Gabriel visiting him almost immediately after being revived, Gabriel popping into the bunker countless times just to talk to him, Gabriel standing between him and death, Gabriel seated next to him as he healed, Gabriel happy just to make him laugh, Gabriel always there to check on him, Gabriel, Gabriel, Gabriel. And Sam could only see one possible explanation for all of it. Crazy as it seemed, the hunter was suddenly, breathlessly, aware that the archangel loved him, despite all his flaws, faults, and mistakes.

And as the idea blossomed in his mind, Sam had another realization, just as sudden and breathtaking: he was helplessly, hopelessly, head-over-heels in love with Gabriel in return. He sat with both of those thoughts for a moment, just letting them soak in. Then he looked down at the archangel. Gabriel was saying something about the oldest library in the country being in New Hampshire and needing to take Sam there sometime because, “You’re such a nerd, you’re sure to love it.” Sam waited until he had stopped talking and then quietly said, “Gabriel.”

The archangel looked up at him, his eyes the color of sunlight through a glass of whiskey and Sam’s breath caught in his throat. “Did you know that I love you?” he whispered, heart pounding in his chest.

Gabriel slowly sat up, his eyes locked on Sam, his gaze searching. He didn’t reply for a long moment, long enough for the hunter’s doubts to surface. But then a grin spread across the angel’s face, relief and delirious joy simultaneously etched in every line. Gabriel threw himself into Sam’s arms and captured the hunter’s lips with his own in a kiss that was at once fierce and tender, a kiss that left Sam reeling and desperate for more. Eventually, the angel pulled away just enough to press his forehead against the human’s. He looked into Sam’s eyes, gently smiling, radiating happiness, and murmured,” I love you, too, kiddo.”

*********

Several hours later, Dean and Cas finally reached the bunker. The hunter immediately sought out his brother, his need to check on Sam superseding all others. He eventually found the younger Winchester in the TV room. Sam was sound asleep on the couch, but not alone: his arms were securely wrapped around the also sleeping archangel curled up on his chest. For the first time in a long time, both the angel and the human looked completely at peace. Dean smiled softly and tiptoed out of the room. Maybe he could convince Cas to join him for a beer.

** Fin **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it. I love you all. Thank you for everything. <3


End file.
